


if you are chilly (please take my sweater)

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: ALSO SORRY FOR THE EXTREMELY CLICHE INGRID MICHAELSON TITLE, Hangover, I hate titles, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sharing Clothes, undergrad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything smells like stale beer and cotton-mouthed morning breath and, washed out and distant, vomit. Matt can feel his alarm clock ringing in his teeth. He’s going to die here, and he deserves it—there was so much temptation last night and most of it was in the form of shots and some of it tasted like apples which is just really too biblical and he’s going to die here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you are chilly (please take my sweater)

**Author's Note:**

> another little tiny college fluff fic, for a prompt on tumblr about Matt stealing Foggy's hoodies! Pre-slash, after the first night Matt and Foggy get drunk together, working under the assumption they went to undergrad together first and had to drink illicitly like proper college students.

Everything smells like stale beer and cotton-mouthed morning breath and, washed out and distant, vomit. Matt can feel his alarm clock ringing in his teeth. He’s going to die here, and he deserves it—there was so much temptation last night and most of it was in the form of shots and some of it tasted like apples which is just really too biblical and he’s going to _die_ here.

“Matt,” Foggy groans, from across the room.

“Mmph?” Matt says, as eloquently as he can.

“Turn that thing off or I’m going to come over there and beat you to death with it,” Foggy says, and Matt has no idea how he’s capable of stringing together so many words right now. Maybe his head isn’t doing what Matt’s head is doing. Maybe Foggy didn’t drink at all and this was all just an elaborate scheme to embarrass Matt and, also, kill him.

“ _Matt_ ,” Foggy says, again, painfully drawing out the syllable, and Matt jumps a little and paws for his alarm clock until he knocks it off his desk and it blissfully stops.

They lay in silence for a long time.

“Water?” Matt asks, eventually. His voice sounds scratchy and strange, just like it feels.

“Food,” Foggy replies.

Matt makes a grunting noise that he hopes Foggy recognizes as agreement and crawls out of bed directly onto the floor, grabbing clothes at random. He’s tying his shoes and listening to the sound of Foggy getting dressed, punctuated by sad moaning noises every time Foggy moves because apparently his head is doing exactly what Matt’s is doing.

“Okay,” Foggy says, eventually, nudging Matt to let him know he’s offering his arm. “Water.”

“Food,” Matt agrees.

They’re halfway through breakfast at the diner down the street when Foggy says, “Are you wearing my hoodie?”

Matt thinks about it, shifting a little and running a hand down his own arm.

“Yes,” he says, eventually. It’s sitting a little loose on him, and it’s soft and smells like Foggy. Sometimes, it’s hard to differentiate because their whole room kind of smells like Foggy. He has to really think to isolate smells in such close quarters, and sometimes, it’s just easier for Matt not to think.

“Huh,” Foggy says, a little oddly.

“Is that. . .okay?” Matt asks. “It was an accident, because, well. . .”

He waves a hand aimlessly in front of his eyes and Foggy laughs.

“Are you kidding? We sang half of the score to Aladdin together last night, on the _street_ , at risk to our _lives_ ,”—tequila shots in their neighbor’s dorm room, the one bar near campus that doesn’t card, Matt’s half-there memory of films he saw as a kid—“We have spiritually bonded now, Murdock, we can share underwear if you want.”

Matt laughs, a little too loud if the sharp cough from the booth next to them means anything. He curls his fingers around the sleeves, pulling them down to cover his hands. The coffee that they’re drinking is strong enough that Matt’s not that bothered by all the other food smells, the bacon grease and eggs and burnt bread, and it’s good. Nothing’s really been good for Matt in—a long time—and he’s never had anything like this.

After they leave, Foggy tells him to keep the hoodie, says it looks better on him, anyway.

Matt says, “I wouldn’t know,” but he keeps it because Foggy’s heart kind of freaks out when he wears it. And Matt’s going to figure out why.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr](returnsandreturns.tumblr.com), writing prompts hella slowly and freaking out about Jessica Jones.


End file.
